


Interference

by lookninjas



Series: Aerobics AU [2]
Category: Glee
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-09
Updated: 2013-05-09
Packaged: 2018-04-20 00:01:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,438
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4765892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lookninjas/pseuds/lookninjas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Blaine is neither a drug dealer nor a gigolo, Kurt is not just using Blaine for sex, and it’s possible that their roommates are maybe a little overinvested in their personal lives. (Except for Santana, who’s just trying to make sure there’s no uglies in her personal space.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Interference

**Author's Note:**

> So I’ve had a few requests for a porny sequel to "The Boy in Green Shorts." This is not that story. For one thing, it’s far too silly, but also in some moments far too serious. For another – not enough porn. But it is some kind of a sequel to “The Boy in Green Shorts.” The silly, serious, non-porny kind of sequel.
> 
> Lyrics used in the story are from “At the Ballet,” and “One,” both from A Chorus Line.

It’s not until after their smoothies are done, after an hour and a half of talking about New York and Ohio and Vogue.com and Tisch and music and fashion and life and dance and art and everything and nothing and the ridiculously talented brutality that is Sue Sylvester, after Blaine’s agreed to go back to Kurt’s house for a delicious, restorative pasta dinner (Kurt protesting all the while that “I mean, if you didn’t want to – Or if you wanted to go out, somewhere, I know this place, it’s all vegan food and quinoa and kale and it doesn’t sound good but it’s actually –”), after Kurt’s dug out his phone to let his roommates know that he’s kicking them out (“Not that I’m planning anything, because I’m not, we don’t have to _do_ anything but they’re a little much, and by ‘a little much’ I mean you have no idea how scary they can be, seriously –”), and after Blaine’s decided to check his own phone, just to see, that he realizes he forgot about the Asian Student Union.   
  
Or, not so much the Asian Student Union, because that’s a lot of people and he doesn’t have texts from all of them. Just Wes, and Tina, and Mike. Mike’s texts consist entirely of punctuation marks, starting with _?_ and proceeding through _???_ and _?!?!?!_ all the way to _*%$?!?!$%*_ (which Blaine doesn’t entirely understand, but he’s pretty sure it’s serious). Tina’s are a little on the grumpy side – the meeting is, apparently, really really boring – but she is worried enough to text him _fyi: if you’re dead i’m killing you_ , even if it is immediately followed by _scratch that i’m killing osric and then myself MURDER SUICIDE_. Wes only texts him once: _If you’re still alive, please text Tina so she can tell the rest of us all about it. If you’re dead, please disregard this message._  
  
Blaine thinks about it for a second, and then he decides to take Wes’s advice. He’s found that’s usually the best way to go.  
  
 _To: TayTay <3  
  
Sorry about the meeting – if I told you I met someone extremely cute at aerobics, will that make you hate me less or hate me more? Not answering my phone either way; we’re having dinner. Wish me luck!_  
  
He sends the message before he has time to think about how presumptuous it is, and then stares at it and wonders if he’s just jinxed himself.  
  
Kurt clears his throat. “Phone blowing up with other offers?” he asks, and if Blaine didn’t know better, he’d swear Kurt sounds nervous. “Or just a really intense game of Words With Friends?”  
  
“Neither,” Blaine says, and tucks his phone back into the pocket of his duffel bag. “Just… I forgot about this meeting I had. Nothing serious, but some people were –”  
  
“Oh my God, do you need to go?” Kurt asks, half standing. “Do you need to – I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to –”  
  
“Kurt, Kurt!” Blaine holds his hands up and laughs, because seriously? “I don’t – It’s fine; it’s… I’ve already missed it anyway, and it’s not… It’s not important. It’s… Really. I don’t need to be anywhere right now. Like, anywhere. At all.”   
  
Which, technically, is true. There are, maybe, some places that he _should_ be – like, at his own apartment, settling in for a night of ramen and studying and giving Tina all kinds of details about Kurt that he doesn’t actually want her to know but can’t seem to keep from her. Or maybe at the library, really actually studying with Wes. Or in one of the music labs, rehearsing. Or in one of the dance studios, practicing while Mike rehearses. These are all places that Blaine _should_ be. But, technically, he doesn’t _need_ to be there.  
  
And more importantly, he doesn’t _want_ to be there.  
  
He wants to be with Kurt.  
  
Kurt eyes him warily, as if he’s just figuring out that Blaine is already unreasonably attached to him and is starting to have second thoughts about inviting Blaine over to his apartment while neither of his terrifying roommates is there to protect him. “You’re sure,” Kurt says. “You really don’t need to be anywhere.”  
  
“I’m sure,” Blaine says, and omits the part where he probably has some kind of class in the morning, because a) talk about presumptuous and b) if there is the smallest chance of him spending the night at Kurt’s apartment, even if he has to sleep on some kind of fold-out sofa by himself, he will skip everything and never graduate and not even care about that.  
  
And Kurt must not be a mind-reader after all, because even as Blaine is contemplating what it might be like if he did get to spend the night, if Kurt didn’t make him sleep on the fold-out sofa bed he probably doesn’t have (to actually really kiss Kurt, or to have Kurt kiss him with his soft-looking lips, and maybe his hands on Blaine’s shoulders or Blaine’s face because Kurt has really nice hands, attached to really _really_ nice arms, and Blaine could put his own hands on Kurt’s arms, which are bared by his jaunty tank top, and –), Kurt’s face breaks into a broad, beaming smile and that’s not actually making Blaine want to kiss him any less. “Okay!” Kurt says, a little breathless and pleased. “Okay. Well. Let’s just –” He clambers out of their booth and Blaine follows him, both of them swinging their bags up over their shoulders. “We do need to pick up a few things on the way, just to make sure, but that’s fine, it’ll give the girls a chance to clear out anyway. What are your feelings on pesto? Because I’m a fan, but I know that not everyone –”  
  
“It sounds perfect,” Blaine says and tucks his arm through Kurt’s before he has a chance to lose his nerve. Kurt’s skin really is incredibly soft everywhere – the feeling of that soft, soft skin over Kurt’s firm, tight muscles does really strange things to Blaine’s insides.   
  
Kurt gives him this look, with his lips a little parted and his eyes wide and this smile on his face, and Blaine feels an answering smile tugging at the corners of his own mouth. “Okay,” Kurt says, and his smile widens a little more before he turns and leads Blaine towards the door. “Okay, great, because don’t get me wrong I’m perfectly fine with a good pomodoro, but sometimes it just gets a little –”  
  
  
*  
  
  
It turns out that Kurt lives in Bushwick, which is something he apologizes for at least fifteen times. They have to take the subway, and the first few stops are packed, no seats on the train. They wind up standing, tucked together side by side; Kurt’s still in his tank top, and his bare arm flexes intriguingly as he hangs onto the strap, and Blaine couldn’t be happier that Kurt lives so far away.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Kurt and his scary roommates live in this sort of abadoned/converted warehouse loft space that is apparently very urban industrial chic, although Kurt says he’s been working on adding some shabby domestic touches and according to him the contrast is very intriguing, but Blaine does not notice any of this when Kurt opens the door. Partially because the door slides open instead of swinging open like a normal door, and it must be more than a little heavy because Kurt strains ever so slightly, which does really terrific things to the dip between his triceps and biceps. But also partially because when the door slides across, Blaine comes face to face with a dark-haired girl in an incredibly short, incredibly tight dress, who gives him a long stare up and down and then back up again and then says solemnly, “Wanky.”  
  
Blaine looks back over his shoulder to find that Kurt doesn’t look happy, but he doesn’t look entirely surprised either. “You said you were leaving,” he says, voice a little higher than usual. “You promised –”  
  
“I said I’d go,” the girl tells him. “I didn’t say when. You said you were bringing him back to the apartment, which, since I pay rent, is partially my space. And since it’s my space, my very strict No Uglies policy is in full effect.” Blaine’s jaw drops a little; he glances back at the girl, who shakes her head at him. “Oh calm down, Jennifer Beals. I’m not totally feeling the black shoes/black legwarmer combo – it kind of makes you look like a mailman – but I can respect a man who pulls off booty shorts like that. You may proceed.”  
  
“He may not!” Another girl, in another extremely tight dress, hustles to stand next to the first one. She points a finger at Blaine and glares up at him through heavily lined eyes. “Are you a drug dealer?”  
  
“No?”   
  
The heavily lined eyes narrow. Blaine wonders if, maybe, he should have sounded more sure.  
  
“I mean – No! I mean, of course I’m not a drug dealer. How would I even – it’s not like I can hide a gun in these shorts or anything. And all drug dealers have guns. I’m pretty sure.”  
  
The first girl turns to the second. “He’s got a point,” she says. “Those don’t hide anything. And I do mean _anything_.”  
  
Blaine blushes.  
  
“Okay, fine, he’s not a drug dealer,” the girl with lined eyes concedes. Then she narrows her eyes again and says, “But he could still be a gigolo!”  
  
“Are you serious?” Blaine asks her. “Seriously? You’re not serious.”  
  
“Oh, she’s very serious,” Kurt says, with a sigh.   
  
Blaine turns back to Kurt. “Seriously?”  
  
“I mean,” the first girl says, “you are kind of flaunting the goodies. Although admittedly, so is Kurt, and he’s definitely not getting any action, so if he is a gigolo, then he –  
  
"Oh God, Santana, really?” Kurt asks.  
  
The first girl – Santana, apparently, just shrugs. “You get tense when you’re not getting any,” she says. “I notice these things because I care. You should feel honored, really.”  
  
Kurt just shakes his head and turns to the girl with the eyeliner. “And Rachel,” he says. “I appreciate that you had a hard time when you first came here. And I respect that you’ve had some bad experiences. But Blaine is not Brody, he does not carry a pager, and when he paid for our smoothies – which _he_ paid for, not me – he used a debit card and not a thick wad of unmarked bills. He’s just…” Kurt sighs, shakes his head, and then turns back to Blaine. “Okay, look, this is awkward and it’s not how I’d do things but I mean it can’t get any weirder, right? So.”   
  
He slips the plastic sack with their pesto and pasta and parmesan up on his wrist, and then reaches out and takes Blaine’s hand, and when Blaine reaches back, Kurt gets this incredible look of relief and gratitude on his face and okay, Blaine’s not happy with Kurt’s friends thinking he’s a gigolo and a drug dealer, but he can’t fault them for being protective, because Kurt obviously deserves it. “Rachel,” Kurt says. “And Santana. I appreciate you looking out for me. I really do. But the only one who gets to choose whether Blaine is right for me is me. And I guess Blaine, too. But the point is, this isn’t up to you. So I’d appreciate it if you let me actually get to know him a little bit so I can make my mind up.” There’s a pause, and then Kurt adds, “Which I can’t actually do unless you take your strangely endearing brand of crazy and leave, please. Like you promised.”  
  
Santana looks at Rachel and shrugs expressively.  
  
Rachel looks up at Blaine. “Blaine,” she says. “I’m sorry if I have unfairly accused you of being either a drug dealer or a gigolo. I’ll admit, I have been burned, but I shouldn’t have taken it out on you. And I appreciate that you were really willing to commit yourself to the… To the aerobics genre. With your outfit.”  
  
Blaine can’t help but brighten a little at that. This is one of the better things about New York, that he can dress like this and people actually take the time to figure out what he’s referencing rather than just calling him a freak and making fun of him. He likes that.  
  
“I hope you have a good night,” Rachel says, and looks at Santana, and Blaine steps a little closer to Kurt to let the two of them out of the apartment. As she passes, Rachel adds, “Oh, and if you decide to watch a movie tonight, I should probably warn you that Santana’s girlfriend still has her copy of _Flashdance_. So you might want to watch _A Chorus Line_ instead.”  
  
“Okay, for one thing, Brittany is _not_ my girlfriend –” Santana says as she and Rachel start down the stairs.  
  
“Oh, please, I know the look you get when she texts you, and when you have a _look_ for someone’s texts, Santana, then –”  
  
Blaine and Kurt just look at each other for a few seconds, still holding hands. Blaine tries not to wonder if he will someday have a look for Kurt’s texts; after all, he doesn’t even have Kurt’s phone number yet. “Well,” Blaine says, and wishes he could think of something else to say. But he can’t.   
  
“Dinner first,” Kurt says. “Then maybe _A Chorus Line_. And then, maybe, we can start to make our minds up.”  
  
He leads Blaine into the apartment, and Blaine reaches back at the last second to roll the door closed behind them.   
  
  
*  
  
  
Dinner goes well; Kurt really is an excellent cook and the table is small enough that their feet keep brushing underneath it, which is a bonus. The only problem is that the loft is a little chilly, even in late April, and neither of them is wearing very much, and by the time they’ve finished their meals, Blaine’s starting to regret having taken off his legwarmers with his sneakers at the door. He likes it when Kurt’s bare toes graze his ankle, but Kurt’s toes are getting cold, and Blaine is getting cold, and –  
  
Then Kurt says, “I know, me too,” and “If you wanted, I – We always keep blankets on the back of the couch for movie nights, just because it’s always a little –”   
  
And suddenly Blaine finds it hard to complain about the cold.  
  
Except.   
  
It’s going well – they’re snuggled up under the same blanket, and his bare leg is touching Kurt’s bare leg except now they’re both sans legwarmers and shoes and socks and so therefore they’re even more bare than they were. And they’ve decided to take Rachel’s advice and watch _A Chorus Line_ , which is as excellent as it was when Blaine was five and his brother made him watch it over and over again because “That’s what we’re gonna have to go through, Blainey, that’s what you do to make it, and the sooner you embrace that, the better.” And Blaine has just decided to lean into Kurt’s shoulder a little bit and Kurt has just responded by putting his own arm around _Blaine’s_ shoulders and it is entirely possible that they will be cuddling, that they perhaps already are cuddling –  
  
And then Blaine starts crying hysterically two lines into “At the Ballet,” and he can’t stop; and okay, some of it has to have something to do with the way Cooper would sing along with this weird, quiet intensity – “He wasn’t warm. Well, not to her. Well, not to us” – and the way Blaine’s stepmother, his father’s third wife, would shake her head and wet down a comb and smooth his hair down (“Honestly, Blaine, the least little bit of static electricity and it’s like you turn into Medusa –”); but it’s not like any of that is anything new and none of it is anything he cries about, ever, not anymore because he is so _done_ crying –  
  
And Kurt pulls Blaine into his arms, and tucks Blaine’s head down so it’s rested in the hollow of Kurt’s shoulder, and rubs Blaine’s back, and says, “It’s okay. Trust me, we all do it. The night after my first Sue90X class, I saw a commercial with a guy who kind of looked like my dad, and I cried for three hours straight. Your body’s just figuring out that it survived something it probably shouldn’t have. It’s okay. This is normal. I promise you, this is normal.”  
  
Somehow, through sobs and hitching, hiccuping breaths, Blaine manages to say, “Your shirt –”  
  
Kurt just laughs and pulls him closer. “Trust me,” he says. “This shirt has seen a lot worse.”  
  
So Blaine presses his face to Kurt’s chest (which is very warm and broad and firm with muscle that Blaine can feel through Kurt’s very thin and revealing shirt, which you’d think would be enough to get him to stop crying, but apparently it isn’t), and wraps his arms around Kurt’s waist (seriously his shirt is riding up and Blaine’s pinky finger is touching bare skin just above Kurt’s hip _why can’t he stop crying_ ), and Kurt’s arms (oh they’re really strong, they really are) tighten around Blaine, and he gives in to whatever weird Sue Sylvester aftershocks he’s experiencing, and he just lets go.  
  
  
*  
  
  
“So the way I see it,” Kurt says, once Blaine’s not sobbing quite so much or so loudly anymore, “we have two options.”  
  
( _One! Singular sensation, every little step –_ )  
  
“Either we watch something so funny that you absolutely cannot cry anymore – my suggestion is _The Emperor’s New Groove_ ; have you ever seen it? Seriously, I know it’s kind of obscure, and there’s a definite lack of strong musical numbers, although the title theme is great, classic Tom Jones, but –”   
  
( _– you’ll never be lonely with you-know-who_ )  
  
“Anyway, either we watch that _or_ we watch _The Notebook_ , and then that way, we’ll both be crying.”  
  
( _Ooh! Sigh!_ )  
  
“Which, frankly, sometimes I feel like I could use a good cry. Don’t you?”  
  
( _She’s – The – One!_ )  
  
  
*  
  
  
Except neither of them is crying when Allie goes to tell Noah that she loves him only to find he’s already gone.  
  
This is how it happens:  
  
After Kurt gets up to change the DVD (his jauntily striped shirt now damp all down the right shoulder and across the chest and clinging to him in a strange way that makes Blaine feel oddly guilty and yet comforted at the same time), he comes back to the couch and snuggles down into the blankets and pulls Blaine back against his chest, and Blaine tucks his head into the space between Kurt’s neck and his shoulder, and Kurt’s arm drapes around Blaine’s waist, and their legs tangle, and they stay like that through the unskippable previews and while Kurt navigates his way through the menu and right up until Allie and Noah meet for the first time.  
  
And then, maybe because he’s been crying and he’s exhausted and his defenses are down and Kurt is broad and warm and strong and holding him so sweetly, Blaine finally finds himself unable to resist the urge to nuzzle Kurt’s collarbone.   
  
Kurt’s hand stills in the small of Blaine’s back. Then his grip tightens around Blaine’s shirt, clutching for a second, but not pulling him away.  
  
Blaine presses a kiss to that space between Kurt’s collarbones, which he has been admiring all day (when he hasn’t been admiring everything else about Kurt, anyway.)  
  
Kurt’s hand slips under Blaine’s shirt and his fingernails drag lightly down the skin of Blaine’s back, and Blaine groans and cranes upward, licking and nuzzling his way up Kurt’s long pale neck and across the sharp aristocratic line of his chin, biting Kurt’s ear as Kurt grips his waist and his other hand finally comes up, finally turns Blaine’s face towards him and their lips finally, finally meet. Because Blaine did give Kurt that little peck in the aerobics studio, but that was just a brush, just a glance, and this is actually the real thing, they are actually kissing – the firm press of Kurt’s soft lips and the hardness of his teeth beyond and when he parts his lips just the littlest bit, his mouth is damp and hot and honestly Blaine doesn’t even care how much garlic they had at dinner because they both had it anyway –  
  
And then Kurt is pressing Blaine back against the couch cushions, long and strong and soft skin and hard muscle and he feels so good that Blaine would cry if he hadn’t actually just been doing that. And his hand is on Blaine’s face, like Blaine had wanted, and Blaine grips Kurt’s biceps which is also something that he wanted – something he’s wanted, honestly, since he walked into the aerobics studio this afternoon and saw a boy in a red and white striped tank top, stretching, arms flexing over his head and so long and pale and strong that Blaine felt his breath catch in his chest –   
  
And everything is perfect, and dirty sweet, and so scorchingly hot that Blaine feels his brain melting and has to pull back, just for a moment, to catch his breath.  
  
“Oh,” Kurt whispers, dazed. His hand falls to the couch cushions next to Blaine’s head.  
  
Blaine groans and hides his face in Kurt’s neck.  
  
“Oh,” Kurt says again. And then, “Are you freaking out? Because I think I’m freaking out a little. Not that I didn’t – because I did, I did want to, but I just didn’t want to assume –”  
  
“Me too,” Blaine says, and relaxes under Kurt’s heavy weight, leaning in to kiss just next to Kurt’s adam’s apple, where his pulse is racing. “Me too. On, you know. For both things.”  
  
“Okay,” Kurt says, and presses his cheek to Blaine’s temple.  
  
“Kurt?”  
  
Kurt lifts his hand from the couch cushions and settles it on Blaine’s arm, stroking gently down from Blaine’s shoulder to his elbow and then back up again. “Yeah?”  
  
“Did you –” Blaine closes his eyes and breathes in the scent of Kurt’s skin. He doesn’t smell like anything very much, not even like sweat. Considering the day they’ve had, that’s actually really impressive. “Are you closer to making your choice? Whether – You know. Whether you might want to try? Being with me?”  
  
There’s a moment where Kurt is very, very still above him – a hanging, anticipatory, slightly panicky sort of a moment. Finally, Kurt breathes out and says, “It’s your choice too, you know.”  
  
Blaine nods, his nose grazing the soft skin of Kurt’s neck. He clings tightly to Kurt’s waist, and breathes in the scent of his skin, and breathes out, “Please.”  
  
Kurt tips his head down, nudging Blaine with his nose and his lips until Blaine finally gets the hint and tilts his head back and lets Kurt kiss him, not nearly as hot or as dirty but about a thousand times sweeter. Then he pulls back a little, and whispers, “Okay,” against Blaine’s parted lips.  
  
And then they’re kissing again, lazy and long and slow and sweet.  
  
And Blaine’s not entirely sure what they were doing when Allie went to the lumberyard and found out that Noah wasn’t there. But whatever they were doing, it was definitely not crying.  
  
  
*  
  
  
The problem with being emotionally exhausted to the point where you can’t resist your attraction to the devastatingly attractive guy in the ridiculously clever handmade Richard Simmons-esque ensemble who is cuddling you with his bare arms and bare legs and not very clothed everything else is this: emotional exhaustion tends to go hand in hand with physical exhaustion.  
  
Blaine couldn’t say for sure, but he thinks he might have actually fallen asleep between one long, lazy kiss and the next.  
  
On the one hand, he actually is sleeping on the couch.   
  
On the other, Kurt is _definitely_ with him, so there’s that.  
  
  
*  
  
  
Blaine wakes up feeling… Well, _compressed_ is probably the way to go. Not so much because of the warm, heavy weight on top of him, which is something he finds rather comforting, but more because of the weird soft cushiony thing that his right arm is pressed up against. Also his eyelids feel hot and swollen, like he’s been crying.  
  
Which he has been.  
  
Because of “At the Ballet” and Sue90X and surviving things he shouldn’t, and also endorphins.  
  
Which means that the cushiony thing that his arm is trapped against is, in fact, a couch cushion.  
  
And the warm weight on top of him –  
  
Kurt shifts a little, his thick brush of hair tickling Blaine’s chin and neck as he snuggles in closer, and Blaine’s left arm, the free one, tightens around Kurt’s waist, and he smiles.  
  
“I’m not sure how this is supposed to make me feel like Blaine’s not being used for sex,” Tina says, and her voice is quiet, for Tina, but it’s still got that weird brittle edge to it, the same way it sounded whenever Sebastian would show up at their apartment (months after Tina told Blaine that Sebastian was no good – sometimes it takes Blaine little while to get the point). “I mean, look at them. They didn’t even make it to the bedroom; they’re still on the couch.”  
  
“Okay,” someone else – Blaine thinks it’s Rachel – snaps back, and she’s brittle _and_ loud, loud enough that no one but Blaine can hear it when Kurt groans into Blaine’s chest. “First of all, Kurt doesn’t _use_ people, okay – I don’t even think Adam got past first base with him, and as far as Chandler goes, well –”  
  
“Oh my God, would you both just shut up?” The third girl, who has to be Santana, is quieter than the other two are, and a lot less brittle, but somehow a whole lot sharper. “Look, they fell asleep cuddling on the couch and watching _The Notebook_ , which as far as I’m concerned is about as kinky as these two are ever going to get, unless there’s some weird Jane Fonda/Richard Simmons roleplay thing happening, which, if there is, I don’t want to know about it and hopefully you don’t either. No one is a gigolo or a drug dealer, and no one’s getting used for sex, because no one’s having any sex. Which means I still don’t get to collect on my bet with Puckerman. Which means I’m grabbing a change of clothes and heading back to Brittany’s, and you two can just… Stay here and be creepy hags, I guess.”  
  
There’s a clicking sound and a feeling like someone’s passing by the couch.  
  
Kurt groans again and shifts again and then his lips are brushing Blaine’s ear and it takes everything Blaine has not to shiver and let the girls know he’s awake. “She’s wearing shoes in the loft,” Kurt mumbles, right in Blaine’s ear, and his breath is really hot and his lips are really warm and Blaine really can’t get too interested with so many people still in the apartment but part of him already is anyway. “I’ve told her a hundred times –”  
  
Blaine manages to keep himself from laughing, but he’s still smiling, and he can’t seem to stop.  
  
“They do look pretty happy,” Rachel says, after a moment.  
  
“And they’re cuddling,” Tina says. “Which is something I don’t think Sebastian or Eli ever did, so.”  
  
There’s a pause, and then the clicking comes back. “Seriously, you two are so overinvested in this,” Santana mutters.  
  
“Go have fun with your girlfriend, Santana,” Rachel calls out, right before the door slides shut. “She really does have this look she gets when Brittany texts her. Every single time. Her whole face sort of just –”  
  
“Yeah, Britt does that, too,” Tina says.   
  
Another pause.   
  
“You know what sounds good right now?” Tina asks, after a moment. “Bagels.”  
  
“Ooh, those do sound good. You know, I swear to God, bagels taste better in New York than in any other city. Kurt says it’s the water.”  
  
Tina makes a sort of snorting noise. “He does know what’s in this water, doesn’t he? I mean, don’t get me wrong, it’s not like Oakland city water is like drinking from the purest mountain streams, but –”  
  
The door slides shut again.  
  
“Crap,” Kurt says, his mouth still pressed up right against Blaine’s ear, and Blaine is still torn between laughter and arousal. “Now I want bagels.”  
  
Blaine settles on laughter.  
  
  
*  
  
  
After Blaine has spent fifteen minutes on Kurt’s couch with chilled cucumber slices on his eyes (“You could use hemorrhoid cream, I guess, but I don’t know – that skin is so sensitive and I just really think it’s safer to go with something mild, at least to start –”) while Kurt makes breakfast; after the first cup of coffee and the bagels and then the second cup of coffee, which they drink on Kurt’s fire escape, wrapped up in the same blanket (still in their tank tops and shorts and bare feet underneath, Kurt’s arm around Blaine’s waist, his thumb hooked over the layered waistbands of Blaine’s regular shorts and his compression shorts, stroking back and forth against the skin just inside the sharp cut of Blaine’s hipbone); after Blaine finally lets Kurt nudge him towards the shower, and brushes his teeth and cleans himself up and changes his clothes and contemplates the tub of gel inside his gym bag before finally deciding to skip it; after Kurt gives Blaine this _look_ and then presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth and tells him “Wait right here,” before heading into the bathroom with his own change of clothes; after Kurt finally, _finally_ comes back out of the bathroom in this incredibly seductive sort of jersey knit top that actually has zippers running down the arms, from cuff to collar, like Blaine could just unwrap him like a present, and these black pants that aren’t tight, but drape in this sort of flawlessly clingy way that’s actually better than if they were painted on –  
  
(And it’s funny, because Blaine has seen Kurt in a lot less than this and was desperately attracted to him then. And yet now Kurt’s wearing more clothing, and Blaine’s even _more_ attracted to him. He’s pretty sure that if this is how things work, he will actually die the first time he sees Kurt in a well-cut suit.)  
  
After all of that, Kurt saunters up to Blaine, still damp from his shower and sweet-smelling from his lotions and admittedly Kurt’s moisturizing routine does take a while – Blaine is a witness to that – but Blaine’s pretty sure it’s all kinds of worth it. He tugs on the strategically cut and frayed collar of Blaine’s sweatshirt and says, “You really did commit to that Jennifer Beals thing, didn’t you?”  
  
Somehow, Blaine manages to mutter “I appreciate the classics” even through the dryness of his throat and the tightness of his chest.  
  
Kurt’s fingers drift down to the pockets of Blaine’s cutoff sweatpants, tug a little, and Blaine stumbles closer.  
  
“You probably have some place you need to be,” Kurt murmurs, still tugging at Blaine’s pockets.  
  
Blaine finally lets himself reach up, start playing with one of the zippers holding Kurt’s shirt together, and Kurt sways farther into his space. “Wherever our roommates are _not_ ,” Blaine says, finally, and Kurt laughs and ducks his head. “That’s where I need to be.”  
  
“I’ll nail the door shut,” Kurt murmurs, and dips his head down to start mouthing at Blaine’s exposed collarbones, pressing himself up against Blaine, still warm and hard and incredible even through the extra clothing.   
  
Blaine groans and tips his head back and arches into Kurt’s body and grabs at Kurt’s shoulders, his waist, and lets Kurt push him away from the couch, towards a little curtained alcove.  
  
He’s hoping that’s where Kurt’s bed is.  
  
He’s hoping that no one disturbs them while they’re in it.  
  
But even if it’s not, even if someone does, he’ll be okay.  
  
He’s pretty sure he and Kurt will get there, eventually.  
  
  
*  
  
 _From: Kurt <3 <3 <3  
  
Santana’s just told me I get a look every time you text me._  
  
 **From: Blaine  
  
Tina’s been telling me that for weeks now.**  
  
 _From: Kurt <3 <3 <3  
  
Sometimes I think Santana’s not as observant as she thinks she is.  
  
From: Kurt <3 <3 <3  
  
Smoothies after Sue90X?_  
  
 **From: Blaine  
  
Definitely. Can’t wait to show you my new legwarmers.**  
  
 _From: Kurt <3 <3 <3  
  
What a coincidence – I just made myself a new tank top.  
  
From: Kurt <3 <3 <3  
  
Meet you before class. We’ll stretch together._  
  
 **From: Blaine  
  
<3**  
  
 _From: Kurt <3 <3 <3  
  
<3_


End file.
